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Asharp knock sounds on our door, and I groan, too tired to respond. I look at my phone and realize we’ve been sleeping for nearly twelve hours. I turn over to see that Hex is still passed out, blissfully oblivious to whoever is trying to disturb our peace. I blindly reach out and grab him, shaking him to wake up.
The loud rap of knuckles against the door resounds through the room again, and I hit him in earnest. There’s no way I’m getting out of bed. He can deal with whatever shenanigans are happening in the clubhouse. I have six months of sleep to catch up on.
“Go away,” he shouts grumpily at whoever is at the door, but they knock again, more urgently this time.
He growls, turning over and nearly falling out of the bed as he stumbles toward the door. He pulls it open forcefully, revealing Pocus standing there with a shit-eating grin.
“Sorry to break up the honeymoon,” he jokes. “Actually, I’m not sorry at all. It’s been six months. Get dressed and get downstairs. Tory’s just been taken to the hospital.”
His words rouse me, and I sit up, my heart pounding in my chest. The baby is on his way, and we’re on duty. I open my suitcase, rifling through to find something clean to wear. I blindly throw something at Hex as he slams the door shut and complains he’s too damn tired to deal with a baby.
By the time we’re dressed and on his bike, he’s come to, animatedly chatting about his godson.
“Do you think he’ll look more like Seer or Tory?” he asks in a happy tone.
“Hopefully Tory,” I joke, leaning into him as he starts his bike.
More than anything, this is what he’s missed. He didn’t have much opportunity to ride in Brazil, so he’d left his baby here. I’m almost worried he loves his bike more than he loves me, but the love is probably equal. Although his bike can’t possibly make him feel as good as I do.
Then again, if it does, I don’t want to know. I giggle to myself as we fly down the road, heading toward the hospital. When we arrive, we run through the halls, searching for the maternity ward. A mean nurse greets us at the reception desk and tells us that only family are allowed in.
Seer pops his head out and walks toward us, assuring the woman we’re with him, and that our presence was specifically laid out in the birthing plan. I enter the room to find Abigail standing at the head of the bed, wiping sweat off Tory’s brow.
“How’s it going?” I ask, assessing the look of pain on Tory’s face.
“She’s refusing an epidural,” Abigail tells me with an eye roll. “It’s the twenty-first century, Tory. You don’t have to do this on your own.”
“Yes, I do,” she answers through gritted teeth. “Epidurals are horrible for the body, and all manmade pain medicine blocks my energy until it’s out of my system. I’m not putting myself through that.”
I shake my head, impressed by her courage. If I ever have a child, I don’t want to feel a single second of it. Then again, I’ve stopped drinking so I don’t experience numbness. Would I want to be out of it during one of the most important moments of my life? I shake my head again, remembering this moment isn’t about me.
I move to Tory’s side and hold my hand to her. She waves me away, though.
“I’m okay, guys, really,” she exhales heavily. “I need moral support. You don’t have to hold my hand.”
A contraction rips through her body, and she reaches for my outstretched hand without even thinking. I hold in my giggle, mostly because she’s squeezing me so tightly. Then there’s nothing to laugh about anymore. Fuck, that hurts.
“That’s right,” Abigail says calmly. “Just breathe through it.”
Easy for her to say. She’s at Tory’s forehead, out of grabbing distance. Lucky bitch.
“Wow,” Tory breathes out. “Sorry, Juliana, that was a big one. Is your hand okay?”
“It’s only broken in two places,” I joke. Abigail giggles.
“I’m so sorry,” Tory says, guilt evident on her face. There’s no way I’m letting the pregnant woman in labor feel bad, though.
“I’m totally kidding,” I lie. “It barely hurt at all.”
Abigail winks at me and suggests we call Seer back in so he can provide a larger, stronger hand to hold.
“Be honest,” Tory says, turning to me. “How did he look when he came out and got you? Does he look like he’s freaking out? Because I’m kind of freaking out right now.”
I smile and squeeze her hand gently, assuring her that Seer looked cool as a cucumber. Right now, he and Hex are probably sitting in the waiting room, shooting the shit and catching up on our trip.
“Absolutely not,” Abigail says in a dark tone. She hands me the damp cloth she’s been using. “Juliana, you take over head-wiping duty. I’m going to get the father and drag his ass back in here.”
